Feed Me Diamonds
by SummerLove16
Summary: His big sister is a movie star. His best friend is president of the United States. And Jasper? The youngest attorney general in history, watching it all go down, and covering it up before it hits the press. They are young, wild, and beautiful, sometimes reckless and more than a little damaged. (Eventual Edward/Jasper, HEA in the end!).
1. Prologue

Alright. So. New story! Hooray! Some historical twisting (obviously), and a slight change to the role of the attorney general. Let me know your thoughts (I have a vague idea as to where this story is going, but not completely)!

Edward is in the second year of his presidency at this point. (For those unfamiliar with the US political system: the president serves a four year term upon election…any questions, let me know!).

/FmD/

**Prologue: **

Smoke curls from between full lips.

He doesn't speak, simply observes with eyes as cold as the jade and glass swells of the Pacific ocean in the winter.

His tie is loose at the collar, the top buttons undone, but he shows no sign of the sleepless night that has stretched out before them.

Coffee sits cold, untouched, and though Jasper can see the empty pill bottle half hidden in the wastepaper basket beneath the desk, he says nothing.

Snow has begun to fall, blanketing the lawn in silence as thick and suffocating as the silence in the office.

Emmett is the first to speak, shrugging his hulking shoulders with his ineffable optimism,

"You've been untouchable up till now. Maybe...maybe this will all blow over. It is Christmas, after all."

His mouth curls into a wry smirk, his eyes dark and mirthless,

"You think so?"

There's a mocking edge in his tone, and Jasper winces as Emmett nods sincerely.

"You're not up for re-election for two more years."

Jasper blurts, before he can speak again. Emmett is wrong-this will not blow over, and he knows that the leakage of these accusations to the press have shaken Edward's trust in him. He's done everything in his power to stop it, but the media is out for blood. Vaguely, he wonders if he could bully James Denali into covering this up.

The head of the FBI hates Edward, but Jasper is the holder of everyone's secrets-including his.

He takes a sip of the scotch that's been sitting abandoned on the desk, rolling it in his mouth and letting it play over his tongue before he swallows. When he looks up, Edward's gaze is on him, his eyes dark and hooded. Jasper gives him a half-smile, trying to reassure him.

An idea begins to form, a nasty, itching idea that is the epitome of playing dirty, but Jasper will do anything to protect Edward. It is what makes him so very good at his job, no matter how much it hurts afterward. No matter how many nights he lies awake, haunted by smoldering green eyes and that edge of accent growing up in Chicago has left him with.

"I need to make a call."

He excuses himself quietly from the room, leaving Emmett alone at Edward's mercy. If Emmett is wise, he won't speak until Jasper returns, but Emmett has never been one for silence. His exuberant, outgoing personality is exactly what has landed him in Edward's inner circle, but it is not always well suited to crisis situations.

Jasper doesn't expect Edward to follow him out into the hallway. Does not expect the way his hand closes around his wrist, the look in Edward's eyes more than his physical touch preventing him from picking up the phone.

"Don't."

"Edward..."

"Don't waste your secrets over this. Maybe...well, maybe it's best that this just comes out, you know? And you're right, it's two more years before re-election...I have time to clean up my act. Show I'm just like everyone else, you know?"

Jasper smirks. As if Edward has _ever_ been like anyone else.

"Publicly, at least."

Edward shakes his head,

"No...I think it's time."

He offers the half-empty pack of cigarettes to Jasper, who shakes his head.

He accepts the pill bottle from Edward's jacket pocket silently, trying not to focus on Edward's mouth as he lights up. The oral fixation drives him insane, but it's not the worst part. Some days, Jasper isn't even sure what the worst part is-his best friend, undeniably beautiful, subtle strength and power suits, his jade eyes and just-fucked hair, devastatingly damaged and dangerous in more ways than one. The attraction is raw and sharp-edged, but Jasper has watched Edward for enough years (watched him with enough women, enough liquor, enough pills) to know that Edward is utterly unattainable. Jasper surprises himself by speaking, voicing the question they've all been wondering but haven't put words to.

"Why'd you do it, anyways? Bella has been good to you, Edward. Stood by you through the elections."

"Don't talk to me about Isabella."

Guilt rings true in his words, and Jasper can tell that Edward truly does feel badly about hurting his wife-the woman who has stood by him for so many years, a stick figure with a pretty smile and words of support to the press. They are friends, but hardly lovers.

Edward slides down the hallway wall, looking up at Jasper with dark, wounded eyes, and Jasper sinks down to sit beside him, his dress shirt wrinkling further with the motion. His sleeves are already rolled up to his mid-arms, his hair tousled and just-too-long, and Jasper knows the night is showing on both of them.

"I fell in love with the wrong...person."

Jasper bites back bitter laughter,

"I'd hardly call a quick fuck with a cheap prostitute _love, _Edward."

Edward turns to face him, and there is that _look _in his eyes, the one that Jasper sometimes catches flashes of, but can never quite place. His hand is warm, too warm, too much, on Jasper's bare arm, the single point of contact too much and not enough all at once. Heat travels up Jasper's arm, lighting his cheeks with a blush, but he is not sure why.

"I didn't fall in love with the _prostitute_, Jasper."

There are a thousand things congesting this moment, a thousand mis-steps and intricate, intimate moments that have all led up to this. Edward leans closer to him, his eyes smoldering with that look that Jasper still can't quite place, his lips twisted in a wry smirk that is as dangerous as it is devastatingly attractive. It is overwhelming, time moving slowly, insulating them in their own private moment in the white house hallway, thick honey sliding over them, and Jasper is drowning in Edward's closeness, in the spicy-warm scent of his cologne, in the fullness of his lips that are forming words that Jasper is only half listening to, because it feels like his world is crashing in around him.

"I fell in love with—"

"Jasper?"

Emmett appears in the doorway, looking pale and shaken, holding the phone receiver, cord stretched as far as it will go,

"You're going to want to take this."

/FmD/

Well. There we have it. Next chapter will be significantly longer, and will pick up two years previous to this.

Review, review, review!


	2. The Campaign Trail

**Read and review! **

**This chapter takes place two years before the previous one, on the campaign trail leading up to the election.**

**Enjoy! **

**/FmD/**

Jasper hates Wisconsin.

Or, more accurately, hates Wisconsin in winter.

The wind gusts, biting through the thin fabric of his dress shirt and blowing snow into the doorway where he is trying desperately to light a cigarette with frozen, fumbling hands.

The parking lot is filled with beaten pick-up trucks, rust and chipped paint and hay bales in the back. There is even a tractor, hulking in the far corner of the lot-whether driven here out of necessity because of the snow or poverty unclear. Above his head, the red, white, and blue banner snaps in the wind, welcoming Edward Cullen, presidential candidate.

It is quintessential small-town America, and if it weren't so _fucking cold, _it would almost remind him of home.

More snow is falling, thick white flakes that are visible beneath the reddish-orange glow of the single street lamp. It's barely mid-October, but the snow has already been blown into banks as high as his shoulder. The snow has come early this year, and it's looking like it will be a long, bitter winter for the folks of the American mid-west.

Jasper sighs, flicking his zippo absently, unsurprised when the wind howls and blows it out immediately.

He has just about given up on his cigarette when Emmett appears in the doorway, snickering as Jasper shivers, but cupping his hands around the lighter all the same. He's still wearing his blazer, a deep charcoal offset by the navy tie that has come ever-so-slightly loose at the collar from his constant fidgeting. The pin demonstrating his support for the Cullen campaign glints, the gold rim catching the half light.

Jasper inhales deeply, pulling the blue-grey smoke into his lungs and exhaling a stream of calm and nicotine before Emmett speaks.

"He's just wrapping up in there. Got them eating out of his palm. This one's in the bag."

Jasper grins, turning his slate blue eyes and tousled curls on Emmett,

"Didja really expect anythin' different? Welcome to the American mid-west, my friend."

Jasper winces at his accent, knowing that he should really make more of an effort to lessen it whenever he's speaking, not just when he addresses a crowd. Emmett shrugs, lighting his own cigarette off the cherry of Jasper's with an easy grin. He wraps one arm around his middle, hugging himself in a feeble attempt to stay warm (though how he can be cold with his hulking size is a mystery to Jasper). He kicks as the snow that has congealed next to the sidewalk, unable to stay still for even the few moments it will take to smoke these cigarettes, sending it flying into the air in a powdered sugar shower.

"Fucking cold, man. Glad this is our last stop."

Jasper nods his agreement, taking a last, deep drag and holding the smoke in his lungs before stomping out the tiny flame beneath his shoe. It's been six weeks of the same small, shitty towns in the middle of corn fields and endless stretches of highway. Jasper misses Washington, misses quality coffee and sleeping in a bed where he can't hear Emmett snoring through the wall.

"I'm gonna go in. Shake some hands and all that. You comin'?"

Emmett nods, holding up his half-finished cigarette, glowing cherry red in the semi-darkness. Jasper doesn't know why they always step outside to smoke-they could just as easily do it inside, where it's warm, but somehow this has become their tradition-even if they are unlikely friends, Emmett's child-like enthusiasm and inability to keep still a juxtaposition to his own quiet strength and calm. Some nights they talk, about Edward, about the campaign, about the town they are visiting, but mostly they simply stand in amicable silence.

"Yeah, yeah. In a sec. I'll see you in there."

**/FmD/**

"...and that, ladies and gentlemen, is why a vote for me is a vote for a better life in America."

It is the same too-small, stuffy hall they've been in over a hundred times, down to the dishwater coffee and stale cookies on a table in the back that looks as if it may collapse at any moment, but Edward shines as he grins down at the crowd. They are stuffed in and over-crowded, men with cracked knuckles and grease stained hands, tired women with children bouncing on their knees. They are overworked, underpaid, restless and exhausted, the least likely people to be involved in politics that haven't been handed down by their families for generations, and yet here they are. Crowded into this hall despite the weather, and entranced by Edward.

In fairness, Jasper is entranced by him too.

He is radiant.

His smile is wide and genuine, and despite the fact that this is their last stop after six weeks on the road, despite the fact that Edward gives nearly the same speech every night, his eyes glitter with energy and sincerity, and the crowd eats it up.

"Thank you so much for coming out, ladies and gentlemen. I'd be happy to answer any questions you might have, but first let me introduce you to my attorney general, Jasper Whitlock."

Edward gestures to the back of the room, and Jasper matches his easy smile, raising one hand in a half-wave by way of introduction to the crowd. Jasper meets his gaze, and Edward grins and winks at him, all cool confidence and easy-going charm. Jasper's stomach twists uncomfortably beneath the heat of his gaze, but his face reveals nothing as he sends his smile around the room, skimming the faces that remind him of his own parents.

Edward steps down off the stage, shaking hands with a burly man and his scraggly haired daughter, and Jasper can't help but watch him, distracted by his presence. He is passionate, energetic and sincere, but his seriousness for the job is offset by his wild hair, bright, like the copper of a new penny, always looking this side of just fucked (and the thought makes Jasper's stomach drop out every single time), his forest coloured eyes that somehow always hold the tiniest spark of mischief, his cool Chicago drawl and the way he chain smokes in the back of the bus when they travel.

They've known each other since high school.

Boarding school, an all boys finishing school that Edward ended up at after being kicked out of his prep school in Chicago, Jasper because his parents were dead and there was no where else to send him. Two boys from opposite ends of the country, unlikely friends, but perhaps closer for that.

The mischief was there in Edward's eyes then, too, as they lit up behind the fine arts building and blamed it on the stoners and arts students.

Jasper straightens his tie, smiles the movie star smile his older sister taught him, and shakes hands with a nervous looking young woman asking about Edward's stance on abortion, but his thoughts never leave his best friend.

Emmett lumbers in, immediately at ease shaking hands and charming the women in the crowd with his dimpled grin and liquid brown eyes. From the corner of his eye, Jasper can see him high five a little boy in a football jersey, bending down to come face-to-face with the child. The delighted look on his mother's face tells Jasper they've got her vote. Probably her entire family's vote, in fact.

They are charm and wit and class, and by the time the hall finally empties out, it is well after midnight. Edward is manic, grinning as he lights up and devours several of the stale cookies from the plate.

The campaign has been more successful than the political advisers had dared hope, and there is little doubt that he will win the election, causing the biggest upset in recent memory.

Jasper tries not to notice the way his hands shake as he brings the cigarette to his lips.

**/FmD/**

Edward hasn't always been as energetic, as passionate and perfectly balanced, as he is now.

The streetlights outside are passing in a blur, one after another, and snow is still falling.

Emmett has long retired into the back of the bus, behind the closing door that blocks only the most hushed of conversations.

The cigarette Edward started but didn't finish lies burned to ash beside him, and he has fallen asleep, the half-light catching on the sharp bones of his face, the long eyelashes and deep circles that reveal his exhaustion, even if he swears he isn't tired.

His dress shirt is rumpled, unbuttoned at the top, and the position he is in cannot possibly be comfortable, but Jasper won't wake him. Not when he sleeps so little as it is.

So he simply sits in silence, watching him, lost in memories.

Depression, the doctor had said. Severe depression, brought on by burn-out, by stress.

But Jasper has always wondered.

He'd found Edward behind the art building, smoking with shaking hands and a split lip, blood on his school uniform that was clearly not his own.

It was late, later than it is now, and frost was just beginning to form on the pavement around them, the moonlight cold and unforgiving above them.

Edward had looked up at him, his eyes huge and dark and full of unfathomable loss, and Jasper had moved to comfort him-they had been so _close _in those days-but for the first time, Edward pulled away.

It's the only time Jasper has ever seen him cry, not even when his older brother was killed overseas.

He never did find out who gave Edward the split lip, but if he had to guess, he'd put his money on Riley, the captain of the lacrosse team.

Riley and Edward had always gotten along, had been close, even, but Riley never spoke to him again.

Edward quit lacrosse soon after that. He'd given up sports altogether, though he still ran, alone, in the early morning, sometimes before the dawn broke.

He took up debate club, student council, found his passion for politics, and dragged Jasper along with him, all the way to Washington.

Took his prozac, in the morning with his orange juice, and after a while, Jasper learned not to long for the edge it took away from him.

They don't talk about it.

Jasper knows that Edward still takes the anti-depressants (though not with orange juice anymore), but he rarely sees the bottle.

Edward holds his cards as close to his chest as Jasper does-maybe even closer-and sometimes, when he catches a hint of that unreadable expression in Edward's eyes, Jasper wonders if they really know each other at all.

But he can still read every nuance in Edward's body, can still share the silent conversations with him from across the room, and despite the guilt that he forces down for his own secrets, Jasper is comforted by this closeness.

Edward stirs, and Jasper curses himself, wondering if he's made too much noise, willing Edward back to sleep.

But then he smiles, and Jasper is utterly lost in the warmth of his eyes,

"Hey."

And it is these moments, the small, tired smile that is neither perfect nor faked, the edge of weariness that has crept into Edward's gaze, the unguarded look in his eyes, that makes every sleepless night, every motel bed, every shitty cup of coffee worth it.

Edward doesn't move, simply watches Jasper with a gaze so heated that his cheeks burn with the intensity of it.

Eventually, Edward sits up, stretching his arms over his head, his shirt riding up ever-so-slightly to reveal his toned stomach, and Jasper wrenches his eyes away, swallowing too much scotch too fast and trying not to wonder if the lingering burn in the pit of his stomach comes from the alcohol or watching Edward.

Edward simply smirks at him with his unreadable gaze,

"Looking forward to home?"

Jasper shrugs,

"Lookin' forward to good coffee and a decent sleep."

He swirls the last of his scotch in the tumbler, and there is an awkward silence,

"You lookin' forward to seein' Bella?"

Her name tastes bitter in his mouth, so Jasper finishes the scotch, relishing the cleansing burn. She's beautiful, fine, the opposite of him, all dark hair and darker eyes, sharp bones and delicate figure. Jasper doesn't want to like her, but he's so desperately in _love _with Edward, a love that goes so far beyond lust and lingering desire, that all he wants is for his best friend to be happy, even if it is not with him.

Even if seeing him with Bella twists Jasper's heart like shattered glass.

Edward's eyes darken at the mention of his new fiancee.

He shrugs,

"Sure." 

It is non-committal, he doesn't elaborate, doesn't seem to want to talk about Bella at all, and his dark gaze lingers on Jasper in a way that makes him squirm.

There is so much left unsaid that there is nothing left to say aloud, and Jasper plunks the bottle of scotch between them.

Edward pulls the pill bottle from his pocket, pops two into his mouth, and washes them down with a swig of the amber liquor straight from the bottle. He offers the bottle to Jasper before he puts it away, tucked safely into the chest pocket of his jacket, next to his heart and his secrets.

They pass the scotch back and forth until the bottle is nearly empty, and they are both drunk.

Edward is chain smoking again, lighting each fresh cigarette off the cherry of the one that came before it.

They are both slurring, laughing at nothing, euphoric as the stress of the trip slowly fades away-and this is how Jasper would choose to celebrate, every time, just him and Edward, laughing and drunk like they are sixteen again.

It is four am when he leans across the table, with the intention of lighting a cigarette off of Edward's, their faces suddenly far too close, and the laughter fades. Jasper blinks, slowly, feeling as though he is moving underwater, beneath a haze of alcohol and desire, but presses the tip of his cigarette to Edward's anyways.

Edward's hooded gaze lingers on Jasper's mouth, darkening as his full, pouty, almost-too-feminine lips pull the fire into his own cigarette, and for just a single moment, Jasper pretends that everything he is reading into this moment is true. He smirks a little, and Edward seems jolted back to reality, his mouth curling into a wry smile.

There is a pause, and the moment fades.

Reality filters slowly back in, but as Jasper moves to pull away, Edward's hand fastens around his wrist, pulling him closer, pressing his mouth to Jasper's ear as though he can't bear for anyone but them to share in what he is about to say,

"I wish we weren't going home, Jazz. I wish...I don't know."

Jasper tenses, trying to will himself not to shudder at the feeling of Edward's hot breath across his neck, wills himself not to arch into the touch, because they are so, so drunk, and Edward is saying things that make his heart ache.

When he pulls away, after a moment that lingers for far too long, Edward's eyes are unreadable and dark, and Jasper hopes that he is drunk enough that he won't remember this in the morning, because Jasper's entire body is buzzing, and he doesn't think he is ever going to _forget. _

They play cards after that.

It is easier than talking.

**/FmD/**

**Please review, review, review! **

**I am wondering if I should include more flashbacks to their high school/university days, or simply keep them as Jasper's memories. Thoughts?**


	3. Landslide

**Another chapter! Please, please review. **

**/FmD/**

Jasper is more than a little buzzed-probably, if he paused to consider, too intoxicated to be in public where there are ever-present cameras and paparazzi.

But the cameras are rolling, and there is confetti falling from the coloured lights above because Edward actually did it. Actually won.

Washington-hell, the entire country-is in an uproar.

Senior political analysts have lost their jobs, the media still hasn't quite finished arriving from the headquarters of the opposition where they were camped out in anticipation of a different outcome.

The room is spinning, the bass so loud that his entire body is shuddering as he makes his way across the dance floor.

He doesn't really understand how Edward is able to get away with this.

It is more dance club than presidential election celebration, but everyone seems to be having a good time in spite of themselves.

Young, driven, brilliant political minds fill most of the dance floor-younger versions of themselves, Jasper realizes as a model thin, well dressed girl in a shocking yellow dress stumbles against him. He catches her, setting her upright with a wink and a half smile that leaves her blushing as he makes his way through the crowd. Even the sweaty, middle aged political advisers are dancing, encouraged, no doubt, by the copious liquor, bits of crepe paper confetti and glitter sticking to overheated skin and underbuttoned dress shirts.

Smoke hangs low over the crowd, celebrating beneath blue and white lights. The balloons that decorated the stage as they watched the election unfold have come loose, being passed through the crowd with the motion of the music. Regardless of the public reaction, Jasper has to admit that this will read well on camera. Colour, beauty, and energy that is just a little wild always do.

He can see his best friend, still standing on the stage where he gave his speech, popping the cork on a bottle of champagne, and Jasper can tell by the lack of fluidity in his movements that this will not be his first drink tonight.

Champagne froths over the top of the bottle, running down Edward's arm and into the powder blue fabric of his dress shirt, and he laughs, looking carefree and enigmatic, but Jasper can read the tension in his shoulders.

Bella moves to take the bottle from him, pouring it into the glasses of those standing closest to them. Her dress is short, a navy and gold throw-back to the Jazz age, her hair sweetly curled around her shoulders, a solitary daisy braided into it.

Photographers linger, snapping pictures and asking who she's wearing.

She is beautiful, flushed cheeks and perfectly poised dishevelment, a fashion-icon in the making.

Then again, they all are.

She catches his eye from the stage, and waves him towards them,

"Jazz! Get up here with us!"

She is all prim smile and classic red lipstick, caring and kind and supportive, and Jasper doesn't _want _to hate her.

He knows the walls he puts up around her do him a disservice-and in any other situation but this one, they would probably be very good friends.

Bella has been good for Edward, he knows that.

She settles him, brings him down to be a reasonable person who is capable of sane decisions and delegating.

Jasper has never been very good at that.

His record with Edward has one too many out of control nights and drunken parties to be considered anywhere close to reasonable-but then, they've known each other for longer. Bella knows her role with Edward, as a support, grounding him. A secondary figure in his life, someone to call home to and stand beside at public functions.

Edward stands behind Isabella, head tilted to one side, observing Jasper with an unreadable expression that melts into a smile when he realizes Jasper is watching him. He will not call out to him, won't issue a verbal invitation, but he doesn't have to.

Their relationship is much slipperier than that, much more fluid, less defined. They are close to equals, but there are too many secrets, too many things left unsaid for them to truly stand on equal footing (and that night on the bus is replaying in Jasper's mind, though he and Edward haven't spoken of it since-and like so many of the unreadable moments in their friendship, they probably never will).

Emmett emerges from the crowd at his side, bottle in one hand, petite blonde on the other.

His tie is loose, but his shirt is miraculously still buttoned, and given his lack of coordination, he looks remarkably put together.

He's grinning from ear to ear, clearly long past tipsy, and gives Jasper a whack on the shoulder that probably should have hurt, but merely startles him from his thoughts,

"Jasper Whitlock, Attorney fucking General. Congratulations, man."

Emmett slurs, by way of introduction, tipping his bottle at Jasper, and the blonde turns her attention to Jasper with a megawhatt smile,

"The VP and the attorney general. Now there's trouble."

She's not nearly as drunk as Emmett, winking salaciously at Jasper and extending her hand. Jasper shrugs and shakes it, only smirking a little,

"You wanna meet the president?"

**/FmD/**

They end up on the stage, an improvised VIP section, where champagne is flowing freely, along with bourbon and something spicy and exotic that Jasper can't quite identify. Emmett stumbles into his back as they climb up the stairs, still dragging the tiny blonde behind him. By the time Jasper gathers himself enough to turn and make sure Emmett is okay, he and the blonde are kissing, so ensconced with one another that voicing his question would be pointless.

There are fresh ivy league graduates, up-and-coming political minds, a few senators, and several congressmen who have been dragged out to show their support. There are less bright colours here, more navy blue and charcoal grey, and the women are showing significantly less skin than the dance floor below. Everyone who has made their way up onto the stage is either exceptionally beautiful, or exceedingly wealthy, and a significant portion of them are both.

There are a few people here only for the networking opportunity-Jasper can pick them out of the crowd by their dour expressions and refusal of more drinks-but Edward is long past the point of networking.

Jasper watches with silent horror as Edward takes a shot of tequila offered by a black clad waiter, pulling the lime into his mouth with a wince like a college kid. He hopes the cameras haven't captured that, but it's too late now, and he's already planning the recall of those photos when Isabella grins up at him and plants a kiss on his neck that leaves a smear of red lipstick as she throws her arms around him.

"Congratulations, Jasper!"

He smiles down at her, cradling the warmth of her petite frame easily with one arm, never taking his gaze off Edward,

"Congrats to you, First Lady."

She looks like she wants to say more, and there is warmth in her dark eyes (and the fact that she wants to be close to him somehow makes Jasper feel worse), but Jasper is already placing her gently on her feet and moving to catch Edward, who is suddenly off-balance after the tequila, because his allegiance lies with his best friend. Always.

Even in his own inebriated state, Jasper manages to grip Edward by the back of the shirt to keep him from tumbling into a group of dancing girls surrounding the Florida senator. Edward offers him a small smile,

"Thanks, Jazz. How's my lady?"

Jasper shrugs half-heartedly,

"She's fine."

They both glance over at Isabella, who has engaged herself in an animated conversation with a campaign activist in Jasper's absence. She is well put together, even in her celebration.

Edward's hand rests on Jasper's wrist as he steadies himself, his fingertips playing over the pulse point, and Jasper fights not to lean into the intimacy of the touch. He tries to remember where they are (and Edward is hardly doing him any favours, allowing his touch to linger for far longer than is technically appropriate), but he is drunk, and so is Edward, and why do they always seem to come together in moments like this one?

They stumble further into the semi-darkness of the stage, whether by his movement or Edward's Jasper isn't sure.

**/FmD/**

Hidden from the bright lights, insulated by the pounding bass, Edward leans against the wall, allowing his head to fall back against the concrete. He suddenly looks exhausted, but his smile is genuine as he looks at Jasper.

"Fucking president... Did you ever think we'd end up here?"

Jasper smirks, putting his hands into his pockets to resist the urge to reach out to touch his best friend,

"I thought _you_ would. _ I _never really gave it much thought."

It is a completely honest statement, the alcohol making him loose-lipped, and Edward laughs drunkenly, his jade eyes suddenly full of intensity,

"As if I could have done this without you."

His hands reach out, taking the bottom of Jasper's tie in his fingers, playing with the silk. He makes no motion to pull Jasper closer, and Jasper doesn't move from where he is standing. Though they are not technically touching, the moment is insulated by an intimacy too familiar for friends.

He wants to leave, wants to ask Edward to leave with him, because he's the only person here who matters, wants to be selfish, just for tonight.

He doesn't, merely purses his lips and meets Edward's eyes, both of them _waiting _for something, even if Jasper isn't entirely sure what it is.

The moment stretches for far too long, and Edward reaches for him with hazy eyes, his hand coming to rest on Jasper's cheek, making him blush though he hasn't moved at all.

"As if I could have made it _anywhere _without you..."

The emotion is heavy in his tone, and Jasper knows that Edward is not so much repeating himself as giving a silent thank you, one deeper than anything he might offer with words.

They are too close now, Jasper is vaguely aware of that, but he is drowning in the look in Edward's eyes, dark, glassy, his pupils blown, and the cold green that Jasper is so used to seeing a slim ring around the blackness. They are close enough to kiss, and for a single, suspended moment, it almost seems inevitable.

Edward exhales shakily, liquor and uncertainty surfacing in his gaze.

It is too much, and Jasper is overwhelmed-he needs _space, _needs to _breath, _needs Edward's eyes to not be full of such _tangible _pain and want and need. He wants to take Edward away from all of it.

"I can't..."

He doesn't have to specify what he _can't, _exactly. There are so many reasons, so many things.

Bella, the campaign, their political careers, the rest of their lives...

He doesn't worry for himself, but he will not fuck things up for Edward, who deserves so much better than he ever has.

Jasper forces himself to pull away even though everything is screaming for him not to, just as Emmett comes around the corner, running one hand through his tangled curls, trying to reign in the desperation that Edward brings out in him _every single time. _He doesn't know how it keeps happening.

"Eddie. Your dad's looking for you, dude."

Emmett nods at Jasper, seemingly unaware of the intensity of the moment he has just shattered.

Jasper can't look at Edward, knowing that if he does, he won't be able to walk away.

Instead, he gives Emmett a grateful pat on the back, and makes his way off the stage and back towards the crowd, leaving Edward to deal with his father alone.

As he makes his hasty exit, he can hear Edward shaking pills (more pills, and should he really be combining those with alcohol?), into his hand.

**/FmD/**

Jasper pushes through the fire exit door and into the crisp November night, leaning against the side of the building with his head between his knees. He is suddenly too drunk, sick and dizzy, the world spinning precariously around him.

The stars twinkle overhead, unforgiving, and Jasper wonders if he will ever be able to make enough amends to atone for the things Edward makes him feel. He shouldn't feel guilty-and he doesn't, not really, not because he feels this way, anyways. It's the thought of hurting Edward that keeps him up at night, that leaves him slightly breathless with pain every time he pictures it. There is more at stake for Edward-his career, his fiancee, his family. Jasper has none of those things-he's only as enamoured with politics as he is because of Edward, has no fiancee-just sickening, unrequited love for his best friend, and his parents are dead.

There is no _good _way for this to end, he realizes. No happy ending, no moment where things will shift and the world will align for him.

It is the memory of the look in Edward's eyes, not the alcohol, that makes his stomach twist, and he gets sick right there on the pavement, silently praying that the media has gone home for the evening, even as he tastes the champagne from his stomach.

He is smoking with shaking hands when Emmett joins him, his expression uncharacteristically dark as he surveys Jasper.

Emmett lights his own cigarette, kicking at pebbles in the frost, glowering into the darkness. He looks like he wants to punch someone, and if Jasper didn't know him, he would probably back away.

"Everything okay, big guy?"

Emmett ashes his cigarette against the wall of the building with more force than is strictly necessary, before gritting out,

"Oh, just Daddy Cullen, being his usual charming self."

Emmett pauses before continuing,

"I mean, the guy is whaled, you know? Going on and on about how it should have been fucking Peter up there, not Edward. _Comparing _them. Says Peter would have gotten a landslide."

_Peter. _Jasper's stomach drops out, and he takes a deep breath to keep from being sick again. Edward's brother was killed overseas just before the campaign started. Edward stepped up to take his place-since his father would have a son who was president-but Edward is not his brother, and his father has never quite forgiven him for that.

"Is Edward...alright?"

Emmett shakes his head,

"As alright as he ever is. Bella's with him, but..."

The _but, _the hesitation in his snarling tone, lays the situation out perfectly. Jasper has no trouble picturing the dead look in Edward's eyes-has no trouble picturing it because that's the look he _always _has around his father, and it is as predictable as it is heartbreaking.

Emmett is clearly livid, his expression stormy, and despite every instinct that tells Jasper to go to Edward, to be sure that he's okay, he doesn't.

He leaves Isabella to pick up the pieces of the man he's been in love with since he was old enough to know what _love _meant.

Instead, he bids Emmett a stilted goodnight that is far too formal, and makes his way through late-night stragglers and drunken women up to his room.

It is elegant, decorated in cream and gold, with too many pillows on the bed and his freshly dry-cleaned suits in the closet, the very embodiment of wealth and power and government largesse, but despite all its comforts, Jasper is alone.

He brushes his teeth, lets the mint wash away the taste of stale champagne and cigarettes and secrets, and avoids looking at himself in the mirror.

The red lipstick from Isabella's kiss, pressed against his neck earlier in the evening, stands out against the collar of his shirt, a moniker of his guilt as he re-hangs it in the hotel closet.

**/FmD/**

**Well, there we have it, kids.**

**Any thoughts?**

**Let me know! **

**3**


	4. The Morning After

**Read and review! :) This one offers a little more of the friendship between Jasper and Edward. They're cute and I adore them. **

**/FmD/**  
>Somewhere in his dreams, Jasper is vaguely aware of a shrill ringing.<br>He wishes it would stop-he is so tired, and the sound is making his head pound-how much did he have to drink last night?  
>Last night.<br>Fuck.  
>Jasper startles into semi-wakefullness, fumbling awkwardly for the phone, caught between needing to move to get to it and not wanting to get up.<br>The light from the clock radio informs him that it is just after four am, and who the hell would be calling now?  
>His first thought is Edward, but desperate late-night phone calls have never been Edward's style-despite his rampant unpredictability, Edward is more likely to arrive at his door in person than to bother with considerations like calling first.<p>

His fingers finally fasten over the plastic, and Jasper lifts the receiver,  
>"Hello?"<br>His voice is groggy, it is apparent that he has been woken from a deep sleep, and the movement makes the room spin precariously so that Jasper misses the first part of whatever it is the person on the end is saying as his stomach pitches.  
>"Sorry, what?"<br>Jasper struggles into a semi-upright position, cradling his aching head against his knees.  
>"Baby? You there?"<br>And despite the raging headache, the bone deep exhaustion, and the ache that seems to have inflicted itself on every part of his body down to his teeth, Jasper is smiling,  
>"Rose."<br>His big sister, sounding far away and very excited about something, still three hours behind on the west coast. She is his mirror image-stark, blue eyes and honey blonde hair, delicate bone structure and impeccable style. She lives in Hollywood, drawn in by the beach and sun and the California dream.  
>"Hi sweetheart. Congratulations, I can't believe y'all made it. I'm so proud."<br>Jasper grins at the lilting drawl in her accent that she covers in her movies,  
>"Thanks. Never really thought we'd end up here, you know?"<br>He doesn't bother to ask her whether she knows what time it is-whether she bothered to think about the fact that he is three hours ahead.  
>"And I always knew you would, baby brother. Why aren't you out celebrating?"<br>"Because it's four am?"  
>There's a pause, and Rose laughs,<br>"Shit. I did it again, didn't I? I always forget...still, though, four am isn't bad. Your best friend was just named president of the United States, Jasper. Which would make you...the new attorney general. How is Edward?"  
>Jasper shrugs, not quite sure how to put voice to Edward, and there's a pause before he murmurs,<br>"He's...good."  
>He's sure Rose can read the foreign feelings in his tone, but she doesn't push it-something Jasper is eternally grateful for.<br>"And you?"  
>"Honestly? A little hungover."<br>Rose laughs,  
>"Oh sugar. Shoulda gone a little easier on the champagne, hmm? Well, I'll let you sleep that off, then. I just wanted to say congratulations, Jazz."<br>There's a pause that lingers, a space in which Jasper says nothing, because he wants to talk to his sister more than anything in the world, but he is also beginning to feel like he might get sick again, pinpricks of light flooding his vision as his stomach flips.  
>"Yeah, yeah...thanks for callin', Rose. I love ya, you know? You should come visit."<br>He can hear the smile in her voice,  
>"I will, sugar. I have an audition on Monday that looks real promisin', but maybe after that?"<br>Their conversations always end like this, Jasper's stilted invitation, Rose's hollow promise of a visit that never comes. They love each other, but Jasper knows that he is the spitting image of their father, and it is hard on Rose, who remembers their parents so vividly while he does not. He's just about to set the receiver down when Rose's voice catches him off-guard,  
>"Jazz?"<br>"Yeah?"  
>"Mama and Daddy woulda been real proud of you, you know? You've done so well, sugar."<br>Jasper replaces the receiver carefully in its cradle, trying to ignore the shake in his hands.

But he can't deny his body's need for oxygen, for the release of the breath he didn't know he was holding, and it is Rose, Rose with her ethereal, movie star beauty, the way she does not walk, but drifts, and the memories she carries with her-of their parents, of a life that might have been-that leaves Jasper sleepless, pacing the hotel room, waiting for the dawn to come.

He orders room service, and drags himself into the shower, letting scalding water fall across his shoulders, branding him slowly back to normal as his muscles unclench beneath the heat. He brushes his teeth again, seemingly unable to wash the taste of the champagne from the back of his throat, and rinses the hotel conditioner out of his curls. The routine makes him feel semi-human again, able to think about things like foreign policy and law and the country that they have been entrusted with running.

There are waffles in his room when he emerges from the bathroom. Waffles with berries and syrup, french toast and orange juice and croissants, bacon and sausages and ham.  
>Jasper pours himself a cup of coffee and lights a cigarette, stepping out onto the balcony in the early breaking dawn to smoke and collect his thoughts. He has always loved the morning in the city, the silence and stillness, the way that there is no one on the streets though it is so clearly urban sidewalks and slick, concrete buildings.<p>

When Edward appears behind him on the balcony, stoic and silent and old Hollywood grace, Jasper is half dressed, nursing his second cup of coffee and smoking.  
>The question of how Edward got into his room, or why he is there at all, remains unanswered.<br>Jasper looks like shit-swollen, red rimmed eyes, disheveled curls, pacing restlessly on the balcony with shaking hands. It is blatantly apparent that he hasn't slept, not really anyways.  
>There is worry in Edward's jade and clear glass eyes, and Jasper knows he looks like he's falling to pieces, so he forces his lips into some semblance of a smile,<br>"Good morning, Mr. President."  
>And his voice comes out husky and raw and not at all the way he meant it-and he catches a flash of something dark and bittersweet in Edward's eyes before he pulls his gaze away from Jasper's half-dressed form. Edward takes a moment to collect himself, running one hand through his hair and biting down on his lower lip in a way that looks as if it should hurt, but Edward gives no indication that it does.<br>"Have you eaten?"  
>Jasper smirks, holding up his half-empty cup,<br>"Breakfast of champions."  
>Edward sighs, looking distressed by this, and Jasper isn't sure what to make of it, so he lights another cigarette and offers it to Edward. It has the desired affect-Edward is drawn from the room and out on to the balcony with him, and soon they are both smoking in the early morning sun. Edward looks as if he hasn't slept much either, and Jasper wonders absently if it was his father or Isabella that has left him with shadows beneath his eyes.<p>

"Talked to Rose last night."  
>Jasper murmurs, mostly for something to say, leaning back against the railing and squinting in the sun. Edward grins. He and Rose have always gotten along flawlessly,<br>"How is she?"  
>Jasper shrugs,<br>"Same as ever. Still Rose."  
>"Is she ever going to come out here and visit your sorry ass?"<br>Jasper laughs outright, feeling the edges of the night slowly fading away,  
>"Maybe. Says she's plannin' a trip after her audition on Monday. But y'all know what she's like."<br>Edward nods, taking a drag on his cigarette and blowing the smoke in rings out across the cityscape, coming to stand next to Jasper on the balcony rail.  
>"Maybe we should just buy her a ticket. You know, make her an offer she can't refuse. It'd be great to see her. Hell, maybe we could even sell her on moving to the city."<br>Jasper tries, momentarily, to imagine his sister living in Washington. Tries to picture her flouncy floral skirts and white blonde hair and tanned skin-more skin than Washington's comparatively cooler climate ever reveals-in his city, but even the thought is laughable.  
>Rose belongs in LA.<p>

Edward slides closer to him along the railing, pressing his arm against Jasper's almost absently, leaning over the rail to look at the street below. Jasper tries to ignore it, leaning further back to blow smoke into the sky.  
>They have nowhere to be, nothing to do, and the sun is already warm above them, despite the fact that it is mid-November.<br>In spite of the fact that they are now president elect and attorney general-arguably holding two of the most powerful positions in the country-the moment is sweetly nostalgic and clear.  
>Jasper almost wishes they weren't so notorious, so that they could go for coffee, for breakfast, for a walk in the park, away from everyone else and everything that blurs the lines of their relationship.<br>"We should take everyone to the beach house."  
>Edward looks at him, somewhat taken aback, because they don't talk about the future, but Jasper's smile is easy, holding the promise of summer and good times and holidays spent together growing up, and after a beat, Edward returns it.<br>"Sure. We haven't been up there since..."  
>"Since before this whole campaign started."<br>Jasper finishes for him. Edward sighs, blowing a long stream of smoke from between pursed lips,  
>"I can't believe it's been two years."<br>He looks lost in thought, lost in the long road that has led them here. Jasper doesn't want to wade through those memories. It is too beautiful, too warm out for that, so he puts his cigarette out against the balcony railing, stepping back through the sliding glass door into the hotel room, looking absently for a shirt. Edward follows him in, helping himself to a piece of French toast from Jasper's room service tray,  
>"You're not going to eat this, right? Breakfast of champions and all?"<br>He asks, teasing, mouth already full, turning the full effect of his most endearing smile on Jasper. Jasper rolls his eyes,  
>"Help yourself, Ed."<br>Edward tosses the shirt he is looking for at him, plucked from the back of the chair with syrup-sticky fingers,  
>"Looking for this?"<br>"Gee, thanks."  
>Jasper pulls it on, ignoring the sticky patches at the collar, pulling a tie through to cover them up. Edward runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit, and Jasper wonders why he is here-not that it is remotely unusual for Edward to arrive unannounced in his space, but there is almost always a reason-and it certainly isn't the now-cold room service sitting on the counter. Edward is not the type of person to go looking for company just for company's sake.<br>"What's goin' on, Ed?"  
>What are you doing here? Edward shrugs, but there is a guilty look in his eyes, and Jasper struggles to recall what else is happening today. Edward is fidgeting, he's been unable to be still since he arrived in Jasper's room, but he looks down at his hands instead of answering. They have no scheduled meetings-the day after the election has been reserved for hang over recovery and travel for those leaving the city. And suddenly it dawns on Jasper,<br>"Bella's meetin' with the weddin' planners this mornin', isn't she."  
>It's not a question, but Edward nods anyways, stuffing a piece of bacon into his mouth, buying time, chewing slowly before he speaks.<br>"Yeah. I guess there's a lot to do, now that we're three weeks from the wedding."  
>Three weeks. It hits Jasper harder than he thought it would-he's known this was coming, of course, they've both known. Isabella has had the ring passed down from Edward's great grandmother on her finger for nearly a year now, the engagement coming exactly half way through the campaign. Jasper knows Edward is waiting for him to speak, waiting for his unspoken acceptance, and Jasper lets the moment linger, trying to push down the conflicted feelings in his chest. He tries to picture standing as Edward's best man, tries to imagine watching his best friend-the man he's been unequivocally, irrevocably in love with for as long as he can remember-marry someone else, but he can't.<p>

"Three weeks. Shit, Eddie. Y'all ready to officially be a married man?"

His grin is easy, but it is forced, and Edward seems puzzled by the lack of emotion behind it. It's the best Jasper can offer. He nods, slowly, running his hand through his hair, and a part of Jasper wonders if he came here looking for reassurance, for proof of Jasper's feelings. Jasper offers neither of these. He can't.

His heart is still aching from Rose and their almost-kiss (one of a million almost moments, shattered and left to drift away) the night before.

"Bella's great. You're great together."

He grits out, through clenched teeth, only just managing to keep his tone even by not meeting Edward's inquisitive jade gaze. Edward just nods absently,

"Sure. Isabella is amazing."

There is no passion, no hint of lust, desire or fantasy behind his words. He smiles halfheartedly at Jasper,

"I'd better go. Jazz, I..."

Jasper waits, expectant, but Edward just sighs and claps him on the back like they are frat brothers in a trashy university movie as he walks out the door without looking back.

It hurts more than it should.

**/FmD/**

**Review, review, review! :)**

**Let me know what you think. I know this chapter didn't really advance the plot much, but it does introduce Rose, and it gives some idea of what our boys are like together-because aside from their heartbreaking, can't-be-together-cuz-it's-the-1960s love, they are friends. 3**

**PS: Next chapter will pick up with the wedding, etc, and it's a bit of an emotional one. **


	5. Shatter

**Well. This chapter was incredibly hard to write, because of the heartbreaking inevitability and stoicism these two exhibit. These boys be breaking my heart. **

**Let me know what you think!**

**/FmD/**

It is Edward's wedding night.

Jasper stands beside him in the hotel room where they got ready in the morning that seems distant now. Their eyes meet in the mirror as he straightens the cuff of Edward's shirt, his fingers lingering for a fraction too long, because he cannot help himself, and Edward has the audacity to look fucking _grateful _for his touch, even if his eyes are devastatingly cold.

They are still wearing suits that match, the colour of Jasper's pocket square an exact replica of the crushed velvet coloured rose over Edward's heart. The gold band on Edward's left hand catches the light, and Jasper swallows hard, forcing down the weight in his chest.

He tries to ignore the dead look in Edward's eyes that is reflected in his own.

He tries not to focus on the enormity of what is happening, tries not to think at all, tries to limit his thoughts to singular tasks-like the cuff links in Edward's shirt, and keeping his smile firmly in place, even if it doesn't reach his eyes.

Edward is watching him, he knows that, drawing from his strength, and Jasper feels weary, weakened by the pull-the undertow-of their relationship.

He doesn't want to think about how long he's been drowning.

He tries not to think about the ceremony, about the way that Edward's gaze lingered on his best man instead of his bride, the tremor in his voice betraying him as he gave his vows. Tries not to think of all the things he would never be able to give Edward, even if the circumstances were different.

In the month between the election and the inauguration, Edward's father had insisted.

Because there would be a lull in the press, and he wants Edward to be _notorious. _

He is.

Cullen has become a household name in America, both for its notoriety and its glamour. Edward and Bella are a model couple of well kept secrets and chaste kisses, of well-dressed notoriety and Hollywood class.

The wedding was beautiful. Tasteful, classic perfection, in spite of the media circus that came along with it.

Everyone, including the press, got to be a part of it-because Edward's life is _inclusive _now, no part of it truly his own-and even though Jasper knows his best friend would have preferred an intimate celebration, perhaps on the Atlantic shore where they spent so many summers, Edward played his role flawlessly-almost-as he walked down the aisle to stand at the front of the overwhelmingly large church.

Part of Jasper wishes for a confession from Edward, for some tangible proof that what he feels is real, but he knows that will never come. Edward will put his duty as president, as a politician, as a faithful husband before himself, and even though it is breaking Jasper's heart, he knows that he would not feel the same way about him if that was not the case.

He knows that Edward loves Bella. Not in the aching, fierce, desperate way that he loves Jasper-the bone deep way that cuts through the layers of flesh, making it impossible to _stay away _from one another, though they'd probably both be better for it-but Edward loves her all the same.

And they are close, the closeness of standing together in the face of constant scrutiny and imitation, the closeness of good friends, contented by the other's presence.

Jasper finishes fastening the cuff links in Edward's shirt, taking a deep breath before he straightens, willing everything he is feeling behind the walls he's constructed so carefully. But Edward's eyes are stark and glassy when he meets his gaze in the mirror, and Jasper's heart stops.

They simply stare at each other for a long moment, and for a single instant, it seems to Jasper that Edward will not be able to go through with this.

Edward's hand is suddenly in his, their fingers laced together with a white knuckled grip, insistent, desperate, all the emotions that Edward keeps hidden from the world that Jasper somehow brings out in him over and _over. _It is the closest to a confession of love that Edward will ever come.

"She's a virgin, Jazz. A fucking virgin. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"

His voice breaks, and the guilt is eating Edward alive, even if Jasper suspects that Bella has always known her role in this, and he knows that his best friend will not be able to go through with this without his blessing.

He steps in front of Edward, so that he is meeting his stricken, desolate expression directly-and in the back of his mind, something surfaces about Icarus, and flying too close to the sun-and puts both his hands on Edward's shoulders, hoping his touch will absorb some of the _panic _that he can see rising in Edward's eyes.

"She's your wife."

"She's too good for me."

There is incontrovertible truth to his statement, though _too good_ is not really what Edward means, and the vulnerability of this moment leaves Jasper achingly aware that _she's not you _is what he does. Like everything else that's passed between them, the truth is buried in the nuance.

Edward's hand clenches in the fabric of Jasper's dress shirt beneath his jacket, his touch cold and faint against the warmth of Jasper's heart, a metaphor for everything they've never said, his head falling to Jasper's shoulder. Jasper doesn't know what to say-he is torn between wanting, selfishly, to keep Edward, to walk away from everything they've ever known except each other and never look back, but a part of him knows that Edward would never be able to forgive himself for that, which leaves him with only bland reassurance and empty promises to offer.

"It will be fine."

It will be. Jasper knows this, even as he tries to force down the sick feeling that comes with the thought of Edward being with someone else. Because Edward is many things, but he is measured in his actions-always-and though this may not be what he wants, he will be sure that Isabella will not regret it.

Isabella is hardly the first woman Edward has been with-his promiscuity in their university days had been both shocking and a little reckless-but no one had ever stuck until Bella. Somehow, though, this means more.

Jasper's back hits the mirror abruptly-he hadn't even been aware that they were moving-and Edward's body is suddenly flush against his, a single tear spilling down his cheek, delicious friction.

Edward's breath is ragged, but Jasper cannot tell if it is from crying or their proximity, his own light-headedness the only indicator that it might be from something other than emotion. Edward is searching his gaze, his eyes begging Jasper to understand, and Jasper wants to reassure him, wants him to know that they will be fine, too, but he can't quite find the words-and probably would not be able to voice them, even if he could.

They are so far beyond the conventions of friendship, so far beyond any of the lines that have always been just a little blurry anyways, and Jasper suddenly finds himself paying little credence to the strict rules that normally make their flawed relationship functional, arching into Edward just to feel him push back, just to know that he _wants _this just as badly as Jasper does.

It is wrong, selfish, and he knows it, knows that he should reign in the overwhelming desire and stopthis moment before it progresses any further-but the _look _in Edward's eyes is as intoxicating as it is dangerous, and Jasper _wants _to push him, wants to _know_ what comes beyond the breaking point.

They are sharing a single breath, close enough to kiss, chest to chest, and Jasper can feel Edward's desperation as he wrenches at the fabric of his shirt, feels the top button give and skitter across the floor. There is no calm as his fingertips meet Jasper's stuttering heartbeat against his bare skin, setting his entire body on fire, and Jasper watches dazedly as Edward's teeth sink into his lower lip, pain the only possible deterrent from this.

The world slows, suspending them against each other, and Jasper barely has time to recognize the wild look, the frustration in Edward's eyes, though he knows it is doubtlessly reflected in his own, before Edward's fist connects with the mirror above his head, and they are bathed in a shower of shattering glass and distorted shards of themselves. It is a baptism of sorts, Edward's hand resting on Jasper's chest for a single heartbeat as shimmering fragments of glass rain over them, as if his touch can protect Jasper from the sharp edges and jagged corners.

For an instant, they don't move, silenced by the impact, but Edward's hand is ribboned, blood spilling onto the carpet as he shakes it out, and he is breathing hard.

They both are- breathless and blown pupils, hypersensitive nerves and glittering fragments of mirror caught in their clothes as they pull away from each other, and _this _is the breaking point, the shock of blood and shattered glass almost enough to bury the desperate desire, but not quite. His shirt is torn open, Edward's blood is streaked across his neck, crimson against the collar of his dress shirt, and Jasper knows he looks utterly wrecked.

From the predatory look in Edward's eyes as he surveys the damage, it suits him.

Slowly, carefully, as if he is approaching a savage animal-because for the first time, Jasper truly isn't sure how Edward will react, Jasper takes Edward's damaged hand in his own, using one of the hotel washclothes to stop the worst of the bleeding, removing his wedding band with gentle fingers to assess the damage. His palm is gashed open, and smaller cuts spiderweb across his fingers, but the physical damage is not irreparable.

"Jazz..."  
>Edward's voice is soft, broken, and when he brushes his fingertips across Jasper's cheek, they come away bloody. Jasper hadn't even realized he was bleeding, the ache in his chest numbing him to anything else.<p>

"I'm fine."

He brushes Edward off without meeting his eyes, knowing that if he does, they will be thrown right back into this, and Jasper isn't sure if he has the strength to walk away twice. Instead, he steels himself and tries to pretend his heart isn't breaking, bandaging Edward's hand as best he can using what he can find in the bathroom.

"Bella is waiting."

Jasper hates the weakness in his voice.

"Jasper..."

Edward's voice is full of regret, of longing and promises that are not his to make, but Jasper cannot look at him, because he knows he will see his own heartbreak reflected in Edward's eyes, and it will bring him to his knees.

"I'll see you in the morning."

The dawn seems so far off, but Jasper knows that if Edward doesn't leave now, he never will.

It is not until after Edward has gone that Jasper realizes he has forgotten his wedding ring, tucked away in Jasper's pocket for safekeeping, leaving Jasper to deal with the bloodstains and shards of broken glass that he leaves in his wake.

**/FmD/**

**Well, there you have it. Pretty heartbreaking. **

**The next chapter is fun/silly/sweet, though, I promise, and it will also be the last chapter before they actually get together. **

**As always, review, review, review!**


	6. Atlantic Shores

**So sorry for the wait!**

**The actual cause?**

**I was looking for a song for Rose and Jasper. **

**Review, review, review!**

**/FmD/**

The sky is the crisp, perfect blue of childhood summer days, whisps of white fluff drifting in off the ocean.

Edward is crouched beside the rolling waves, his hair tousled by the breeze, no doubt bestowing the finer nuances of sailing on his nephew.

Whatever he is telling Sam, gesturing with a hand-crafted wooden sail boat from his own childhood, the little boy is completely enamoured.

So is Jasper-by the bliss on Sam's face, by the carefree passion on Edward's, by the simplicity and beauty of the moment they are sharing.

They haven't been here-to Edward's family home on the Eastern seaboard-since the beginning of the campaign. The Atlantic shore is crisp and clean, with frolicking waves and mid-May sunshine, and Jasper can't believe they've waited so long.

It seems like everyone they know is here-Edward's parents and nephews, Jasper, Emmett, a select few of the political advisors who are continually present, and Rose, who Edward managed to sweet talk into spending a week on the Atlantic shore in mid-May, despite the fact that the temperature remains consistently lower than it is on the California coast.

She is sitting on a lounge chair, her eyes hidden behind huge sunglasses, bundled in an oversized sweater, a blanket draped over her legs, sipping one of the drinks that Emmett is passing out. Jasper snickers.

Bella is reclined on a beach chair beneath one of the wide umbrellas, looking very pregnant and very interested in the fruity drink that Emmett is handing her, giving his hand a try at bartending in case being the vice president doesn't work out for him. At least, this is what he tells Jasper when he asks, gently turning down the sweet looking cherry red cocktail that Emmett is peddling in favour of beer. The stack of magazines beside Bella ruffles in the wind as she sips her drink-most of them tabloids featuring herself and Edward and their upcoming bundle of joy. Jasper wonders why she reads them, but can't deny that some of the theories the press comes up with are downright laughable.

Jasper sits down next to Edward's mother on the porch, swiping a handful of carrot sticks left over from lunch-a hot dog roast over a fire that Emmett and Edward had helpfully constructed on the beach below, ignoring the wind that swept the smoke off the beach and straight into the house. Edward's mother has the same jade green eyes as her son, but their similarities end there. Esme Cullen is soft edges and laugh lines and the smell of fresh baked cookies, so petite that Sam, at age eight, can wear her clothing. She is also the woman who stepped into Jasper's life when he needed a maternal figure, and he will never be able to thank her enough for that.

"How ya doin', Mrs. Cullen?"

Jasper grins at her, startling her from her sunbathing. She smiles, patting his arm with a gentle hand,

"Jasper, how many times do I have to tell you, Esme is just fine."

"Yes ma'am."

She sighs, but smiles. This has been their routine since Jasper was young-he's never quite been able to get over the deep south manners that Rose imposed on him, and Esme has always found it endearing, if a little odd.

From their seat on the porch, Jasper can see Edward's father seated at the table with several of Edward's political advisers, heatedly discussing something that is undoubtedly more important than his family or any of the other people here. Jasper sighs. Esme catches his gaze and shakes her head,

"He's worse you know. Since Peter..."

Jasper nods,

"I know. He's hard on Edward."

"Always has been. He just wants the best."

"He just wants Peter."

There is a hard edge in Jasper's voice, but Esme doesn't disagree. Her husband is not the same person he was before their son was killed, and Jasper knows enough about tragedy for him to understand what is happening.

"How are you holding up, honey?"  
>Esme changes the subject delicately from her son to Jasper. He shrugs,<p>

"I'm fine. Glad to be here."

"I'm glad that sister of yours could finally join us."

Esme casts a fond look in Rose's direction. Jasper nods, following her gaze, trying not to laugh as Rose takes a sip of something blue that Emmett has poured into a martini glass for her, pulling a face at the taste.

"It's a good thing politics worked out for Em. He'd make a terrible bartender."

Their surveillance of the beach is interrupted by Sam, barreling up the stairs, out of breath and looking very excited about something. He pauses in front of Esme and Jasper, trying to catch his breath. Edward jogs slowly up the steps behind him, mischief sparking in his eyes, and Jasper knows they are in trouble.

"Uncle Jasper, Uncle Edward told me-he said you'd play for us!"

Edward smirks down at him, leaning casually against the railing, looking smug, and Jasper casts him a glare that makes very little difference in his enthusiasm, before he turns back to Sam,

"I haven't played in years, Sammy..."

"Oh come on, Jazz. It's like riding a bike."

Edward presses, and Esme nods,

"There's still the guitar in the basement for you, dear. It would be lovely to hear you play."

Edward's grin is infectious, knowing Jasper would never refuse his mother anything. He leans down, patting Sam on the shoulder,

"You go get the guitar, okay buddy?"

Sam nods eagerly and disappears into the house. Jasper sighs exasperatedly,

"A little warnin' woulda been nice, champ."

"If I'd warned you, you wouldn't be playing."

Edward shrugs, winking at him.

Sam returns with the guitar-a restored acoustic, made of slick-varnished cherry wood, and Jasper has played a lot of instruments over the years, but this one remains unquestionably his favourite. He strums softly, coaxing the guitar back into tune after months in the basement.

Sam watches with wide, attentive eyes, and Jasper thinks that maybe when Sam is old enough, he will teach him to play. Despite many attempts, much cajoling over the years, and repeated failures, he has never been able to teach Edward, who simply doesn't have the patience.

Satisfied with the tuning-and Edward is annoyingly right about the familiarity he feels for playing-Jasper readjusts the guitar on his lap, turning to Sam.

"Alright. Sam, you know what? Your uncle Edward probably never mentioned this, but he has a fantastic singing voice, so let's get him to help us out with this one, okay?"

He smirks at Edward, expecting him to back down, but Edward simply arches one eyebrow at him, challenging him, and Jasper begins to play. It wasn't a total lie-Edward can, in fact, sing, and Jasper has known him for long enough to play a song that they will both be comfortable singing.

"In this dirty old part of the city, where the sun refuse to shine, people tell me there ain't no use tryin'..."

Edward's voice is just slightly deeper than his, and there is just a hint of gravel to it, blending together with Jasper's gentle croon and lilting drawl in a smokey, bluesy rhythm as Jasper plays on,

"We gotta get out of this place, if it's the last thing we ever do, we gotta get out of this place..."

Other people are starting to drift up from the beach to listen, joining them on the porch, but Edward's eyes are locked on his, and Jasper could not look away from his best friend's gaze, even if he wanted to. The moment is totally insular, the meaning behind the lyrics too uncomfortably close to the truth, and Jasper knows he's blushing as they finish the song,

"There's a better life for me and you, believe me baby, I know it baby, you know it too."

There is applause when they finish, but it takes a moment before Edward pulls his gaze away from Jasper, and Jasper feels the loss as palpably as if Edward had been physically touching him. Sam is immediately at his side,

"Wow! That was amazing! Will you play another one?"

Jasper nods, shaking himself from the moment, playing the opening bars to an older Beatles song, one everyone will know, and Esme joins him with her high, sweet voice, before Edward and Emmett join in. By the time he reaches the chorus, Bella and Rose have made their way up onto the porch, supporting Esme, and they are a truly lovely ensemble.

At Sam's insistence, Jasper plays until his fingers are aching and raw. When Edward eventually wanders to the other side of the porch to light the barbeque for supper, Jasper smiles at Rose,

"Sing with me?"  
>She nods, and comes to sit beside him on the deck chair, resting her head against his shoulder. He can smell the sweetness of her shampoo, and her touch is familiar and comforting. There is no question as to what they will sing,<p>

"Stars shining up above you…Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you'…Birds singing in the sycamore tree…Dream a little dream of me…"

It is their parents song, one that Jasper has faint memories of being sung by a woman he can't quite remember, but Rose has taught him all the words, and her eyes are shimmering when they finish. It is beautiful and poigniant, heartbreaking in its simplicity, and a soft silence falls across the porch.

Jasper sets the guitar down in its case, and Rose wraps her arm around him,

"Thanks, sugar."

Esme smiles at them, the maternal smile that she reserves for moments just like this one, and Jasper catches just the slightest hint of moisture in her eyes,

"That was beautiful, Jasper."  
>She stands, ruffling his hair and shooing Sam into the house, gently prodding everyone else into action to start supper. Rose giggles as Emmett sits down reluctantly with a bucket of corn and a roll of tinfoil, looking longingly at the bar across the porch.<p>

"I can see why you like it here so much, Jazz."

He shrugs, leaning into his sister, absorbing her strength,

"Closest to home I've ever been."

Rose's smile is warm but far away, and she kisses the top of his head as she rises from the deck chair,

"I know, baby."

Jasper is sitting alone on the steps that lead down to the beach, toying with the beer bottle in his hand, watching the sun set over the horizon.

The smell of barbeque lingers over the deck, but everyone else has gone inside, favouring sweet wines and the fireplace-because it is still early enough that it is cold at night-over the evening chill and the sunset.

It is not a spectacular sunset, anyways, and the sky is starting to cloud over with swirls of purple and grey, but Jasper has always loved the days when he sees both sun rise and set, better still if he can see the stars as well. His cable knit sweater is not quite warm enough, but his thoughts are elsewhere, and he doesn't really notice until he starts to shiver.

He thinks of the first summer he spent here with Edward's family, of the way Edward's mother had fussed over him, making him deeply uncomfortable until he realized that was how a mother behaves. Rose has always been amazing, but she is not maternal in the slightest-and what was she going to do with a child, when she was really still a child herself when their parents had been killed?

Still, Esme Cullen's rules and hair ruffling had caught him off-guard (and sometimes still did, when he wasn't paying attention-their age had not changed her attitude towards her son or his best friend in the slightest). It was strange and a little unsettling to have suddenly been _cared for _after caring for himself for as long as he could remember.

He remembers Edward's jade gaze on him, intense as ever, even at sixteen, the way he asked Jasper what it was like to not have parents, unflinching and stoic, warmth but no pity in his eyes. Jasper has always been grateful for that.

Always restless, he and Edward have explored every inch of the coastline for miles, sometimes walking, sometimes boating out, always disappearing for hours at a time.

His thoughts drift to Rose.

He's almost surprised that Edward managed to convince her to come out, but Rose is nearly as unpredictable as Edward-which, Jasper hypothesizes, was why they get along so well.

More surprising still has been watching his older sister interact with Emmett.

Jasper wouldn't have pegged Emmett as being Rose's type, but something about his easy going personality brings out her smile in a way that makes Jasper think that maybe seeing Rose in Washington wouldn't be so crazy after all.

There are footsteps on the porch behind him, and Jasper turns, expecting to see Rose, or even Edward.

It is Bella, though, holding two cups of something warm-hot chocolate, Jasper realizes, they must be giving the kids a snack before they are tucked away to bed, leaving the adults to their wine and firelight.

He moves to help Bella, who apparently intends to sit next to him on the steps, off-balance with her swollen belly. She grins, sheepish,

"Thanks. I figured you might be cold out here."

Jasper takes the hot chocolate from her, but he remains standing. They have never been close, and Jasper wonders if she came out here seeking solitude, if he should leave her to watch the last light of the sunset fade away. Bella looks up at him, gesturing to the step beside her,

"You can sit, Jasper. I actually-oh!"

She smiles, placing one hand on her belly,

"The baby's kicking. Do you want to feel?"

Her expression is so genuine, so open and honest, that Jasper nods, drawn to sit next to her, amazed by the flutters of his best friend's baby beneath the warmth of her skin. Edward is ecstatic about this baby, and his happiness is contagious. Jasper has grown used to his best friend's daily updates, shared over sandwiches in his office or walking through the white house grounds. Jasper smiles, sipping the hot chocolate, slowly rewarming his entire body.

Bella sighs, rubbing the place on her stomach his hand has just been,

"He's just so energetic. I figure he takes after his father."

Jasper laughs,

"Just ask Esme about Edward...apparently he was quite the handful growing up."

Bella smiles, placing her hot chocolate on the deck beside her and reaches for him, taking his hand in her own, her fingers delicate and foreign feeling,

"Jasper, I...I wanted to talk to you. About Edward."

It is a fairly ambiguous statement, but there is no question of what Bella wants to talk to him about, and Jasper tries to keep the shock from registering on his face, tries to keep his expression neutral, but this was not what he was expecting when she padded out onto the porch in the waning light. Bella catches his alarm,

"It's okay, Jasper. I...well, I think I've always known, on some level, but..."

"There's nothing goin' on, Bella. I promise you that."

Jasper's voice is lilted with accent, more pronounced under stress, because he wants her to _know _that no matter what, he would never do anything to hurt her, that Edward would never do anything to hurt her. She smiles sadly,

"Oh Jasper. I know that. But...I've seen the way my husband looks at you. He's been in love with you since before we even met, and I...well, how do you compete with a love like that?"

Her words hit Jasper like a punch in the stomach, and he is horrified to see tears in Bella's eyes when she turns to look at him. He wants to comfort her, wants to somehow make this better, but he knows that there is nothing he could possibly say or do to change the way things have ended up,

"I didn't want to know for sure, but Jasper, the look in his eyes on our wedding night...when he came to bed bleeding, without his wedding ring...he wouldn't tell me what had happened, but when I saw you the next morning, when you gave him back his ring..."

She trails off, wiping her eyes, and Jasper puts one arm around her, moving through instinct, rather than conscious thought,

"Bella, I...Edward and I, we've never-we would never. He would never do anything to hurt you."

Bella nods,

"I know. But you're both hurting, and I can see the toll it's taking on him. I love Edward. I really do. But...not the same way. I'm happy with him, but we don't...I mean, we haven't slept together since the wedding, Jasper. I want him to be happy too."

She takes his hand again, placing it on her belly,

"I don't want to know. I don't _ever _want my child to find out from the tabloids. But Jasper, what you and Edward do behind closed doors...that's your business."

Jasper isn't quite sure what he should say, what the appropriate response is to a moment so surreal, unexpected and unnerving,

"Bella, I..."

She smiles up at him, resigned, and Jasper is struck by her sincerity,

"Jasper, his heart belongs to you. I don't want to stand in the way of that."

Somehow, her unexpected blessing bridges the gap between them, and Jasper presses a gentle kiss to her hair,

"Thank you."

They fall into an easy silence, and Jasper finds himself more at ease than he ever has been with Bella. She shivers, snuggling closer to him, and Jasper leans his head against hers, staring out over the flat-calm water.

He wonders, vaguely, if they will be friends when all this is over.

"Bella?"

"I'm here, honey."

Edward appears on the deck behind them. He looks taken aback by their closeness, by the fact that they are together at all, let alone folded into each other's bodies, watching the sun go down. Something akin to guilt surfaces in his eyes, but Jasper ignores it,

"Y'all wanna watch the sunset with us?"

Edward seems bewildered by the change in energy between them, but he nods hesitantly and lowers himself onto the stoop next to Bella. Jasper wonders if Bella has spoken to him about the things she has just confessed to him-whether Edward and Bella discuss things like that at all-but it seems somehow appropriate that she wouldn't, and Jasper knows this is hurting her more than she is letting on. He slides his arm from her shoulder, allowing her husband to replace him-not quite able to meet Edward's eyes over her shoulder, though he can feel his dark gaze linger, full of questions-and promises silently that if he ever follows through on Bella's acquiescence, she will never find out.

They watch as the painted sky slips away into the evening, an unlikely trio, bathed in golden light.

**/FmD/**

**Well, there you have it. **

**Sweet, silly, fun.**

**Thoughts?**

**What should Jasper do with Bella's blessing?**


End file.
